


The Spectrum of Affection

by miominmio



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Beautiful angst, Cherik - Freeform, English Aristocracy, Gothic, M/M, Misogyny, Mutant, Mutant Powers, No Beach Divorce, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romance, Victorian England, exploration of bodies, it's all about cherik really, live bodies for clarification, lovemaking, not those kind of bodies, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:09:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miominmio/pseuds/miominmio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victorian AU. Count Charles Xavier returns home from his trip to the States and is acquainted with the mysterious Erik Lehnsherr off whom Charles can soon not take his mind. A story of gothic romance, barn sex and how to deal with homoerotic affection in times of homophobia and misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Across the Valley

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a brainchild of mine which was the only one among many to make it to AO3. They grow up so fast (sigh). I know roughly where I'm going with this, so I'll be updating regularly, unless of course, this gets minus views and comments and so on. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this and let me know if you do or if you don't ... pls. (✿◕ ‿◕ฺ)ノ))。₀: *゜

It had not been the intention of Count Charles Xavier to return to the isles so soon, but business had proven to be difficult and he needed to see to his Countess sister besides. Nevertheless, it wasn't without trepidation that he watched the mansion grow larger outside of the carriage window, embedded in a cloud of snow with frosted towers and turrets. Alone the sight of the pale brickwork evoked memories in him he would rather have left in slumber.

Countess Raven met him at the gates, and Charles dismissed the carriage in favour of a brisk walk with suitcase in hand, which was too light to be burdensome. His journey to the States had left him a few possessions poorer, he was sorry to conclude. Albeit a few experiences richer.

"I trust you did not run our parent's home into the ground while I was away?" Charles spoke light-heartedly, and let Raven loop an arm around his. He took a moment to take her appearance in - made note of the free flow of her hair, which she wore after the latest fashion, and the determined shine to her eyes which alluded to a maturity he had failed to be present for.

"My dear brother," Raven humoured him, and she still looked away when she laughed. "I went mad in your absence, naturally, and made away with the chandeliers, and the silverware and broke Ma's vases. And you should see your study..."

Raven eased Charles' homecoming as only she could, a bright light in the midst of the listlessness of winter. All this land - the blanketed fields and rolling hills, patches of woodland as well as a scattering of farms - would have wilted away without her presence. Even her mind was warm when Charles was allowed to seek it out, a rare but valuable occasion.

"What news of the estate, then?"

"I am afraid to inform you that the Summers brothers are leaving their farm in the wake of the imprisonment of the Elder Summers-"

"- a shame, truly -"

"Mrs MacTaggert is as keen as ever to pair you with her daughter Moira and her frequent visits are beginning to wear my patience thin-"

"Poor girl, but that's the nouveau riche for you, so eager to establish themselves..."

"Oh, I nearly forgot: remember the abandoned country house down by the river?"

"What of it?"

"Well, in the past months there has been quite some noise coming from the river creek. I had a chat with the maids who wander over there from time to time for their laundry and they spoke of a man, a bachelor in his thirties, who was doing paintwork and roof-patching and the like at the house. After a few inquiries, I was made aware that this man is a certain Mr Erik Lehnsherr, without a known title or position."

"Lehnsherr... Is that German?"

"Oh, what do I know? I suppose if one were to find out it would be you..."

They had arrived at the entrance of the mansion, and, sobered by the promenade, Charles did not find the enveloping warmth of the interior disagreeable in the least. A faint smell of dust lingered in the hallway, but between his sister's and his own wanderlust, it was nothing of surprise. Neither of them spent a great deal of time at home. He excused himself from his sister's company with a speedy press of his lips to the back of her hand and rushed to his study.

Things were as he had left them: there were the papers littering his desk, the knocked-over bottles of ink long since dried, his journals and books scattered haphazardly over the backs of chairs and lampshades. It was not the most beautiful of sights - but a comforting one which lulled him into a sense of comfort only a home, and a good one at that, could provide.

To re-acquaint himself with his work would be too Herculean a task to take upon so soon following his return, so he decided to leave it to the morrow, and held Raven company over dinner instead.

It was not until much later into the evening, the mansion quiet and the servantfolk retreated to their quarters, that he found himself standing by the window in his study to watch the eerie moonlight turn the lands fluorescent. It was a calm evening, and Charles expected to turn in early - that is, until he caught sight of a distant set of lights.

It was by the riverbed that he observed this phenomenon and his thoughts went to the man Raven had mentioned of - Mr Lehnsherr. If he was living in the country house by himself, which, if he were indeed a bachelor, was very likely, he certainly was something of a night owl.

The intrigue was something that Charles could not deny that he was aware of. A stranger come to this part of the country, his identity a mystery - he had never been one for gossip, but he was in this instance genuinely interested. A yearning inside of him urged him to seek this man out, at the very least if only to satiate his curiosity.

With a sigh, he pulled the curtain over the window closed, and returned to his chamber, telling himself that he would go over first thing. It was very late now, after all.

Yet he could not for the life of him fall asleep. The bed was not to fault - the eiderdown-duvet and feathered mattress the very essence of luxury - but he twisted and turned and his mind was somersaulting, leaving Charles restless.

After a tiresome battle with slumber that would not come, Charles gave up. He slipped out of the bed and into a Russian fur-coat and high boots of which the leather no cold could penetrate. Lighting a lantern to guide his way, he left the mansion with as little noise as possible and made his way through the snow toward the river.

It was a fool's errand, of course, and were his Pa still alive, Charles would have been chided at the spot, adult or not. It was not recklessness that made him go anyway, although it was not entirely out of the question, but in the Americas, Charles had learned not to squander opportunities. This night, he let his gut commandeer him instead of his reason.

The world was soft and the darkness without edges at this hour, besides. Even the sky, pregnant with cloud, spared him the asperity of winter. His figure in the light of the lantern cast long shadows over the white - it could have been the illustration of a storybook, how he made his way down the valley, leaving a trail of tracks behind. Charles reached out with his mind and whatever living creature was out there had soft thoughts and tranquil dreams.

He was warned of the river long before he arrived at its bank - the snow was wetter, the vegetation richer. The river itself had frozen half-way in its journey to the sea, in some places the holes of laundry-women and fishermen visible like the eyes of a giant white-skinned serpent. Willows wept over the edge of the bank and their tears had frozen into icicles. Charles avoided those with care.

The old country house came into view, and it was true what the maids had relayed - the paint shone fresh over the wooden framework and the roof was free of holes and bird nests. More comforting still was the steady light spilling out of the windows - undeniably electric, of the sort you would normally only see in the capital. A man of his own liking, Charles mused.

External senses sated, Charles proceeded to let his mind wander. Steady as the electricity a presence within the walls emitted resolution and heat, and something else that was new and of an unfamiliar, metallic taste.

Before Charles could investigate further, the presence of the other became stronger still as the man - Mr Erik Lehnsherr himself - stepped out on the porch of his house. Charles had let no sound give him away, yet Mr Lehnsherr still turned to observe him. The metallic taste in Charles' mind became near overwhelming.

"Can I help you?" Mr Lehnsherr queried, his voice flavoured by an accent that Charles could not quite place, flustered as he was.

"I am sorry," he stammered. "I was just... I do not... I am Charles... Sorry, I am Count Xavier."

As he spoke, his mind reached out further, and there was a flood of wonder within him as he recognised the oddity of the other man's aura. He recognised it because it was the same oddity he himself held within his heart.

After a whole lifetime of searching, and dreaming and yearning, after nearly coming to accept that Raven and he were the only ones of their kind, Charles had seemingly found another mutant.


	2. Flicker of Fire, Ash and Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Mr Lehnsherr meet. Flirtation ensues. What else could happen between a gentleman of esteemed value and a doctor from overseas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I apologise for the hiatus. I have been working away from home and did not have access to proper internet or even a computer. Regardless, I do want to take the moment to express my gratitude over the recent success this piece of work has seen. It has blown up - when I wrote it I never expected it to recieve such appraisal. Thank you so very much - I will do my utmost to update more!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Please, Mr Xavier. Do come inside - you're going to catch a cold if you remain outside any longer. Come inside and tell me on what errand you came here for."  
  
Charles remembered himself as the other spoke, and felt a flash of perturbation as he realized how improper he had acted. A man of his standard, out here alone in the dark - it wasn't right by any means.  
  
Cheeks burning, he spoke to Mr Lehnsherr as he strode up the steps to the porch: "You must think of me a clown, to come like this in the dead of night..."  
  
Mr Lehnsherr offered his bare hand and Charles took it in his gloved one. The briefly exchanged press rippled in Charles' mind like the percussion of a cymbal.  
  
"On the contrary, Mr Xavier, I am pleased to make your acquaintance any hour of the day - it is Doctor Erik Lehnsherr."  
  
"Thank you, Doctor."  
  
Mr Lehnsherr invited them inside into a sparsely furnished hall. Charles had been so accustomed to his old mansion for so long, that at first the scent of the fresh wood panelling the walls and floors overwhelmed him. There were chandeliers installed in the ceilings, with electric lights in the stead of candles, glowing brighter than a thousand suns.  
  
"May I take your coat?"  
  
As he gave his consent, Charles felt Mr Lehnsherr appear at his side and the thick coat was gently eased off of his shoulders by hands not aristocratically soft and plump, but calloused and tan. Mr Lehnsherr himself was peculiar in this fashion - unshaved, his fair hair unkempt and his clothes worn and torn by the toils of construction.  
  
"Please, let us sit down, have a glass of two of brandy to warm your soul," Mr Lehnsherr proposed, and there was nothing uncouth about his mannerisms, nothing rough about the tenored flow of his voice. He led the way to the dining area, and Charles followed, sorely tempted to delve further into the mind of the other.  
  
Many a day in summers past, Charles had stood at the  edge of a great lake and let his mind sense the temperature of the water rather than wading in. It was less intrusive to the beings lurking in the depths, they would continue to sing in unison and he could listen to their harmonized music without disruption. So it was now - he would let Mr Lehnsherr, his aura and his words speak for him and Charles would simply listen.  
  
Though there were electric torches in the room Charles was led into, Mr Lehnsherr instead lit an oil lamp by the window and opened up his liquor cabinet as Charles took a seat in an old rococo armchair. Mr Lehnsherr soon returned with two glasses filled generously with amber brandy and sat down in the chair opposite of his nouveau ami.  
  
They both sat in silence, then, and swirled the drink in their hands. The house creaked and groaned, as old houses are wont to do, while outside snow began to fall from a sky gone black as the night headed toward the witching hour.  
  
"I was merely curious as to your identity," Charles began, feeling the time for words had again returned. "I do not always follow my urges like so... but I saw your lights. Electric, fascinating..."  
  
Mr Lehnsherr raised his glass in salutation. "It is my pleasure to invite you into my home. Do you not have electric lights in your... in your mansion, is it? Did you say you were a Count?"  
  
Charles was embarrassed to be the privileged aristocrat in this moment when faced with a man of such apparent calibre as Erik Lehnsherr. "It is merely a title, I am inclined to disclose to you." He tried a smile and was rewarded one by Mr Lehnsherr in return. "You must know how things are nowadays - businessmen are kings and merchants are dukes. The feudal system of old, and monarchy at that, is an outdated concept, I am afraid."  
  
"You do not seem outdated to me."  
  
Charles cast his eyes down in humility and observed the vortex of the brandy in its glass. Mr Lehnsherr's compliments were endearing and his company pleasant with a touch of the familiarity which accompanies kindred spirits.  
  
"I do not have electric lights in my house, unfortunately. But tell me, my friend, what brings you to these parts?"  
  
A braver man would have broached the subject of the mutation, but Charles was anxious to enrage the man and thus end the connection that had begun to blossom between them.  
  
It was the turn of Mr Lehnsherr to look away. Charles did not have to telepathize to know that the way Mr Lehnsherr's fingers curled tighter around the glass of brandy spoke of a kernel of darkness in his demeanour.  
  
"Forgive me," he spoke hastily, the will within him to reach out and comfort through physical contact almost violent in its intensity. "I never meant to cause you discomfort - you have my most sincere apologies."  
  
The wrinkles that had appeared on Mr Lehnsherr's forehead were smoothed over, his eyebrows raised and he smiled once more, leaving Charles irrationally yet immensely relieved.  
  
"You have a good heart, Count Xavier, truly. Do not worry about me, however. I have come to this country to begin anew and I aim to make good of my plans."   
  
Mr Lehnsherr leaned forward in his chair and his face basked in the illumination of the lamp, enriching the hue of his skin. His eyes glinted mischievously as if he were about to confide in Charles a secret.  
  
"You are the first to come and visit me, Mr Xavier. The other landowners in this corner of the world feel nothing but disdain for me. In the realm of wealth, labour is not worth as much as it is out there, in the real world. Even the labour of a doctor."  
  
Charles' voice was quiet as he spoke, keen as he was not to break the spell that had settled over the room and two of them within it: "I do not feel disdain, Mr Lehnsherr. I - I am respectful of you."  
  
Mr Lehnsherr considered him, and Charles sensed the stirrings of disbelief in his aura. Someone had disappointed him into doubting himself. Charles longed to placate him in the manner he had Raven, who had been - were still - fighting to accept herself during the course of her whole life.   
  
Alas, the only issue was how to go about it without upsetting the fragile balance of caution and concern. At the cost of a budding friendship, Charles could not afford to be hasty.  
  
"My friend, do you play chess?"  
  
Mr Lehnsherr inclined his head and smiled. It was not easy to determine whether he was a hard man, the dimmed light softening harsh lines if there ever were any. Rather than intact, his soul was a display of kintsugi and all the more valuable for it.  
  
"It has been quite some time since my last game," Mr Lehnsherr spoke as he walked over to the bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Charles saw a lot of prose and little academic reading. "You will have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty, Mr Xavier, caught up as I have been with the reconstruction of this house."  
  
Charles perched higher on the chair as Mr Lehnsherr brought over a dust-coated board to the table between them.  
  
"Oh, will you look at that."  
  
The pieces were made of steel, not marble or bone, yet smoother than either. The metal sang in Charles' hold as he picked up the Queen and yet it did not sing for him.  
  
"I am more than happy to re-familiarize you with chess," Charles promised and observed how Mr Lehnsherr's gaze fell to the piece in his hand.  
  
Slowly, slowly, the gangly gentlemen lowered himself into his seat. They both started as the oil spat and spluttered in its lamp, yet it did not succeed in keeping their attention away from eachother.  
  
"What is it with you, Mr Xavier? Why does a Count show up at the doorstep of a simpleton? I cannot possibly think of anything I might have done to warrant your attention."  
  
The chessboard lay untouched between them. There was no rush though, nothing to make them force their move. Soon morning would have broken, and in a few months spring would melt frost and heather sway in the summer breeze and there was no necessity to hasten the process.  
  
"To answer your query, Mr Lehnsherr, may I ask you whether you find beauty in a harvest moon? If you appreciate the aesthetic of an old house panelled with fresh wood?"  
  
Mr Lehnsherr was confunded. "Why, naturally!"  
  
"Thus," Charles spoke, with a gentle smile, "you are evidently capable of recognizing the ethereally beautiful when you are faced with it. Yet you fail to grasp the beauty in the image of a mirror. Do you see what I am trying to convey to you?"  
  
The reply of Mr Lehnsherr was one long mono-syllabic: "Oh."   
  
"Whoever spoke otherwise in the past, Mr Lehnsherr, is wrong in the assumption that you are a simpleton. We have only just met - but if you hold any regard for my intellect, you will know what I say to be true."  
  
There was a rumble in Mr Lehnsherr's mood like the electrification of cloud before the onset of thunder and lightning. The rumble reached its climax as the gaze of Mr Lehnsherr moved from Charles' eyes to his lips to his hands still hovering in the void between his knees. It peaked and settled then, ebbed out in a flow of affection.  
  
Charles was aware of a heat over his face. He cleared his throat, "Should we begin a game?"  
  
Mr Lehnsherr replied not by means of speech but with anticipation blooming in the noise of his being. Thus Charles commenced the set-up of the pieces.  



	3. By Grace of the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The gangly gentleman approached him clad in a long, dark coat, his hands tucked into his pockets and boots making furrows in the snow. His face had a healthy flush, hair swept to the side by the restless wind.
> 
> "I see you are just as much the night-owl as I am, Mr Xavier.""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continuous support for this story - I have never had such a response to any piece I've written, which means it will definitely continue - the only thing is that I am working full-time starting the end of the next month, and will not have access to a computer. I will write my stories on my phone instead, I suppose, but it doesn't autocorrect when I do so. 
> 
> Apologies for the delay, but I do hope you enjoy the update and if you do or you don't, please let me know! :D

"My chambermaid saw the oddest of things in the night," Raven conveyed to Charles over breakfast the following morning, "A lone figure, making his way down to the creek. Would you hazard a guess as to who that might have been?"

The scraping of knife over toast subsided abruptly. Charles looked up at Raven to discover a twinkle in her eye. He cleared his throat with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "Well, you know: there are all sorts this side of the country."

"Evidently."

Raven smiled at him knowledgeably and turned to face the window, letting the pale light of winter sun ignite the gold of her hair.

It was not without some embarrassment that Charles resumed to read the papers spread out on one side of the table. The words did not leap and jump at him as they usually did - they remained still and stiff like hieroglyphs of old, a simple print of ink on paper. He was much too distracted by thoughts of calloused hands and flickering oil-lamps.

He was loath to admit it, but he was consumed by the personality of Mr Lehnsherr and the genetic baggage he carried with him. Altruistically speaking, Charles was of a mind to reveal to the doctor the true nature of their kind. As for his own intentions, he was immensely fascinated by the man and thus coveted their friendship.

Beneath hooded lids, he could see the face of Mr Lehnsherr as it was shone upon by the oil-lamp, soft as the streak of a paint-brush, yet Charles was hours afterward acutely aware of every line and every blemish of the skin. There was an agony in his features, woven into the fabric of his being. Charles wanted to trace those threads and unravel the source of his pain, put a stop to worried thoughts and anxious dreams.

He did not dare, however.

Absent-mindedly, he put aside the piece of toast of which he had not taken a single bite, and folded up the paper of which he had not read a word. Raven gave him a most curious look as he excused himself from the table prematurely and walked back to his study to brood.

As he paced up and down the room, still in his robes, he would ever so often draw back the curtain over the window and peer outside. To his straining eyes, over-sensitive from the lack of sleep, the winter morning appeared far too bright. Nevertheless he would linger, and look for the indentation of the landscape down by the river. He saw the rising column of chimney smoke and not much more.

The sensations which had overcome him were akin to wanderlust, he mused. His hands itched to act, his mind eager for stimulation. It was negligent of him to encourage this depravity, but he was lively and what was more he sorely missed the excitement of adventure.

The afternoon saw a temporary stop to his pontification as he was due to make rounds of inspection with his housekeeper McCoy. Together they set off across the lands, Charles with staff in hand, and McCoy with his Jack Russell.

To begin with, they stopped off at the stables and Charles reached out mentally to the mares to calm them when the terrier became too enthusiastic about his teasing. McCoy was chatting to him as they moved on, but Charles found his ears deaf to all but the rush of blood in his head and the dallying echo of a man's voice.

Their movements escaping the notice of Charles altogether, the two men suddenly found themselves on a threshold of a small town which bordered on Charles' lands. What a merry little town it was, with quaint little half-timbered houses and a bustling market square over which the shadow of an English church loomed.

In a time not too long ago, Charles would have struggled to filter the onslaught of information and sensation which the people exuded. Now, if he chose, it could be quiet in his head. He could pluck one impulse at a time: the smell of baking bread, a child's straying thoughts, perchance a whispered prayer. For the most part, he preferred the harmony of silence.

McCoy proposed to rest their legs in the local tavern, and Charles humoured him, keen to reacquaint himself with his estranged housekeeper. They tipped off their hats to the ladies within, and took seat where they could see the open door and the cobble-stoned square outside.

McCoy spoke of the estate, of his unattainable chéri and the death of a priest in a village not too far away. Charles listened to the chatter good-naturedly, but was soon distracted by the another discussion going on toward the back of the tavern.

"I'm telling ya', he is up to no good that one, my lordship!"

"How long has he been here for?"

The voice of the one to speak last caused Charles to shudder. Well-articulated, with velvety intonation, yet void of any animation of spirit - if Charles knew anything of people, he knew the speaker to be a dangerous man.

"First I saw 'im, was in January," replied the other.

Charles made to glance over his shoulder with as much discretion as possible.

Two men sat in the alcove beneath the staircase to the upstairs: one a farmer with a cap shoved deep over his eyes, clutching at his pitcher of ale: the other straight-backed and regal, long hair combed back and tied together. His attire was strikingly sombre - a coal-black coat setting a stark contrast to the white shirt beneath, with a formal-looking signet ring on the middle finger of his left hand.

As Charles stared, the man turned around. Their eyes met, briefly. Charles heard his name in the internal noise of the other. He was tempted to delve deeper, but did not want to spook the man and reveal his natural advantage.

Suddenly, Charles felt a great power stifle the air in the interior of the tavern, emanating from the well-dressed stranger. It was oppressive in its intensity, and more than that it seemed controlled, commandeered by the man to follow his whims.

There was no doubt about the matter - Charles was faced with yet another mutant, as incredulous as it seemed.

The man, seemingly having lost interest in Charles, resumed his conversation with the farmer. Charles was forced to apologise to McCoy who had made notice of his absence of attention. Yet guilty as he felt, Charles was disturbed by the idea that the man was heralding great power and foul-mouthing Mr Lehnsherr, thusly further dividing his focus.

A few times more the name of Mr Lehnsherr was mentioned as the farmer became increasingly agitated about the situation, blaming the newcomer for everything from crop failure to stolen cattle. In return, the stranger asked more intrusive questions about Mr Lehnsherr's abode and behaviour.

With a hasty excuse to McCoy, Charles briskly walked up to their table. His hands were clenched tightly, and his face was frozen in indignation.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, as polite as he could force himself to be," I am Count Xavier and Mr Lehnsherr is a good friend of mine. I have heard quite enough about his supposed crimes - I will not stand by and allow his name to be dragged through the dirt when I know the accusations to be untrue."

The farmer became pallid beneath his cap but it was the other man who stood up to face Charles.

"I have not yet had the fortune to meet you, sir. I am General Shaw of the West India regiment." His smooth voice was deceptively calm, betraying none of the power he was evidently capable of.

Charles stood a little straighter. "Sir, I believe I have made my point clear?"

The General was a good head taller, and used it to his advantage as he towered over Charles and smiled condescendingly.

"Quite."

"Very well."

Charles turned on his heel and re-joined McCoy by their door-side table. He did not know how much of the conversation McCoy had heard, but was reluctant to bring it up. They finished their meal and left in a haste. It was an unpleasant experience for Charles to have met a mutant of the malevolent kind, so he was relieved to go.

Charles and McCoy spoke little on their way back to the mansion, and they parted before they arrived at the gates. Charles watched the slim figure of his housekeeper and his springy dog follow the path down to their cottage until they disappeared out of sight.

He was of half a mind to call it a day and pour over tomes of natural science in his private library. Yet he remained outside instead, and watched an indistinct dusk settle over the countryside, gentle shades of violet, blue and peach fluctuating above the horizon.

The first stars were alight in the sky when he heard someone coming up the road behind him.

"Mr Lehnsherr?"

The gangly gentleman approached him clad in a long, dark coat, his hands tucked into his pockets and boots making furrows in the snow. His face had a healthy flush, hair swept to the side by the restless wind.

"I see you are just as much the night-owl as I am, Mr Xavier."

Charles shrugged, but his mouth was smiling of its own accord. "I suppose it is so."

The breath of Mr Lehnsherr made a fine mist in the gathering darkness as he exhaled. "I came over to offer my gratitude."

"Gratitude?"

"I was informed of a discussion taking place in the tavern today. You see, the tavern keeper owes me a favour after I helped to fix the locks of his door. The discussion was about me apparently: a farmer and this unpleasant fellow thought of me as a nuisance to the county. The keeper told me that you intervened and stood up for my honour. Thank you, _Charles_."

Charles felt himself go warm all over, but it was in particular his face that felt ignited. "Speak not of it," he stammered.

Mr Lehnsherr stepped closer and he, too, was taller than Charles, but in this instance the difference in height did not invoke any feelings of inferiority - it was as it should be, and there was only sincerity in the expression of Mr Lehnsherr.

"You must understand, after a lifetime of solitude, I am unaccustomed to the virtues of friendship."

"I am sorry to see that you have not been met with much kindness."

One more step by Mr Lehnsherr closed the final stretch of distance between them. Their bodies were close to touching, creating a pocket of warmth in the nippy evening.

"But I have. By you, no less."

"Mr Lehnsherr -"

"Erik."

Charles balked. He did not trust himself to act properly in this close a proximity. What he wished for, what he wanted was so impermissible and the consequences so dire that he simply did not dare to follow through with his intrinsic desires.

He took a few steps back and cast his eyes down, fearing that the expression on Erik's face would weaken his resolve.

"I apologise, I must retire for the night - it is too late, after all."

He glanced up, then, and the crestfallen look upon the face of the other caused his heart to twist painfully.

"I am well and truly sorry," Charles repeated.

His last words reverberated into the night and the silence consumed them, leaving nothing but a vacuum in their wake.

With one last nod to the brokenhearted, Charles turned and walked home.


	4. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Mr. Lehnsherr had more than friendly intentions, but Charles was conflicted.
> 
> Charles leaned back his head and let his eyes close. Regret broiled in his gut and when he tried to speak he found that he could not. He tried again, with a small voice:   
> "At times I fear for the future, Raven. I fear that - that it holds nothing but solitude for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise once more for the followers of this story that I have failed to update in several long months. With neither access to a computer nor good internet connection, it is needless to say that it has been difficult. However, I do intend to follow through with this story, and hopefully the autumn will mean more time for me to do so. 
> 
> I am ever grateful for your feedback and support. I hope you enjoy the read!

The thick plumes of smoke unfurled in the hazy air of the lounge, and dissipated on their ascent to the ceiling. Charles let the pipe sink from his lips to his lap and watched the smoke dance. He was not a smoker, but this was a night for smoking, after all.

The floorboards creaked as the silhouette of a young woman appeared on the threshold. Raven, in her nightgown, snug in a dress robe, settled in the armchair beside Charles. She reached a hand out and smiled. Charles handed over the pipe.

Well-acquainted with the customs of smoking, Raven knocked back the hot tobacco into the unlit fireplace and plucked some fresh leaves from the box at Charles' feet. She struck a match at the side of the box - illuminating the room briefly - and lit the pipe.

"Come on then: out with it! What keeps you this late?"

Charles leaned back his head and let his eyes close. Regret broiled in his gut and when he tried to speak he found that he could not. He tried again, with a small voice: "At times I fear for the future, Raven. I fear that - that it holds nothing but solitude for me."

Raven did not laugh. At most her face crumpled with sympathy for her brother. "Whatever makes you say that?"

Charles rubbed his fingers against his temples, the skin tender and tense. His mouth twisted of its own accord, as he struggled to admit: "You must know, my dear sister, must have your suspicions... that something is amiss with me. I am not speaking of the mutation, but of something else..."

Raven gently balanced the pipe of the arm of her chair and came over to hold Charles' hands in her own, as she crouched down before him.

"Charles Francis Xavier, you must listen to me very carefully. I am your sister so I know you very well. I know you fall asleep over your books sometimes. I know you hide toffees behind the figurine on the mantel shelf. I know that you are, in spite, or perhaps, in favor of your power, kind, and that your kindness will prevail. So when you ask if I know what the matter is with you, I will answer that it is not you that is amiss, but the world.”

The inner noise of Charles’ mind grew and blossomed. Raven reached up to wipe the wet from his eyes.

“The world does not share your benevolence, unfortunately. I am ever grateful of your words, Raven, yet I cannot ever act upon any notion that would cross my mind. In the eyes of lawful men, I am afflicted by a perversion of spirit- “

Raven hastily rose, a wild expression on her face. Her eyes were narrowed and her mind unreachable. “Do not speak that word! Not in this house, not while we know what we know and while we are who we are. You cannot let their poison intoxicate you!”

Charles let his fingers rest on the bridge of his nose. “I see your concern, Raven, but I digress: stigmas aside I cannot follow my fancies. I would put so much at risk, for such a selfish cause.”

In the indistinct light of the moon, her hair braided and skin cleared of powder, Raven looked much her younger self as she stood there forlornly before the fireplace. “You would be surprised to hear that I think I know more than any other of your plight. But what? - shall we all stay hidden until the fools learn of their foolery? Rather, perhaps we should not hide at all? 

Charles turned to the westward wall and watched the darkness seep in from the windows. There was a storm going on outside, the wind blowing snow against the glass. He thought of a particular someone in the bed of the valley and wondered if he was alright.

"Perhaps we should not. However, to all there must be a balance."

Raven huffed and threw her arms up, but her demeanor was not argumentative. "It is far too late for me to decipher your cryptic remarks. Though you should heed what I say. Good night, Charles."

"Good night to you, dear sister. And I will."

Raven left behind an eerie silence with her departure. Charles realized his tensions had been only momentarily relieved when he felt them creep back from the shadows. It was the image of Mr. Lehnsherr – _Erik_ \- that plagued him the most.

Not that he could do anything about it.

Could he?

Previously so lethargic, Charles became wildly animated as the dawn of a decision broke in his mind. He hurried to the hallway to dress in the same attire as during the night of first encounter, huddled in layer upon layer of fur and wool, and ventured outside.

A blizzard awaited him.

Without a moment of respite, the storm swept him away in a flurry of snow and wind. Charles lost orientation of where the land ended and the sky began, all marks of recognition brushed out by the glare and the inky darkness. He took a couple of steps experimentally, and was no wiser as to his whereabouts.

Then he heard a neigh, ever so soft against the howl of the weather. He was close to the stables, and thus close to the path down to the riverbed. If only the prints of his boots were not instantly filled in seconds after. There were no sentient beings he could reach out to, either.

The dead rush of winter loomed before him, threatening. By now, the snow was up to his thighs and wading through it was a farce, sluggish steps haltering his advance. His boots, oiled leather no less, were frozen solid, mercilessly rigid to his numbing feet, and a thick mantle had settled over his coat. Still, he delved deeper into the valley, relentless in the face of conviction.

It surprised him when the cold was at once much more biting. Intense pain shot up his legs and he realized he had walked right into the river without intention. He tried to retrace his steps and fell into the mixture of snow and water, his breath leaving his lungs in a misty puff. Agony seized him and he convulsed.

Darkness fell like a sheet over the snowfall. Intense cold became intense warmth, then intense cold again.

The next event he was cognizant of was a hand on his cheek in what appeared to be a large, cavernous hall. A blurry fire threw shadows over the hay which, each time he stirred, scratched his exposed skin.

The hand from before brought a cup to his lips.

Too exhausted to return the touch, Charles reached out telepathically and his mind connected with steel, the thrum of metal filling his head, reverberating. He probed further and broke through an iron wall to reach the inner core of molten silver. He heard his name in there, like a heartbeat, and the implications of it washed over his own heart. 

The last energy he was capable of mustering he used to spread joy inside the core of his _tinman._

When he woke it was night-time once again. As before, a fire was lit, and now, without the obstruction to his vision, he could see that the large, cavernous room was in fact a barn. 

He was cozy and comfortable in several layers of blanket, the thought of cold a distant memory, if even that.

Better yet, next to him, lying partly embedded in the hay, was Erik Lehnsherr whittling away at a piece of wood. Only he was not holding the knife – it was moving as if it were attached to strings. The hands of Mr. Lehnsherr were folded neatly over his stomach. 

Bright eyes moved to meet those of Charles. They stared at each other in silence for a while. 

Charles coughed, finally. “That was awfully kind of you. To save my life I mean.”

Mr. Lehnsherr smiled, inclining his head. “Of course.”

Charles realized his coat and boots were stretched out over the hay to dry, and beneath the blankets he was only dressed in night-robes. Embarrassed, he rubbed the side of his neck.

“Do you mind me asking how you found me? And where we are?”

“I saw you. A figure, wandering around in the snow, drifting. Who else could it be but you?”

Charles turned red.

“We are sheltered in the closest farm. The blizzard will not pass until the morrow. It was far too great a distance to get you back to my abode, and you were in a delicate state.” 

If possible, Charles turned even redder.

Mr. Lehnsherr sat up and inched closer to Charles. His hair gleamed in the firelight, but his eyes were even more alight. He brought a hand up and touched his temple.

“I felt you. Inside.”

Charles still felt the connection running strong, thin like a copper wire, but _there._  

“What for did you brave the blizzard?” asked Mr. Lehnsherr.

_For this,_ thought Charles and closed the distance between them.


	5. Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik discover what there is to do in a barn during a blizzard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. There are no excuses, but truly, I appreciate the help I've gotten. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is not very PG, just so you know.

It was a kiss that could have lasted half a century, had Charles not leaned away in a sudden bout of timidity. His cheeks reddening, he brought his fingertips up to his lips and felt the warmth that Erik had left behind on the cold, soft flesh.

Erik watched him intently, silent, and his mind was a river of molten noble metals. This time, he was the one to lean in, cupping Charles’ cheek with his calloused hands and bringing their lips back together. It was not so much unbridled passion as patient affection that heated the caress, Erik’s hand gentle as it travelled from his cheek to the nest of his hair. His other hand pushed at Charles’ chest until Charles was on his back in the hay, his chest heaving rapidly as his pulse quickened.

Erik turned his attentions from Charles’ lips to the hollow of his throat, kissing and nibbling at the skin with the same diligence as he had showed Charles’ lips, making the skin around his neck tingle. Light-headedness came over Charles in a way that no alcoholic beverage could replicate, and breathy sighs escaped his lips.

Erik ventured further still, unbuttoning Charles’ night-shirt without pausing to explore Charles’ skin with his attentive tongue. Charles own hands came up to Erik’s hair of their volition, cradling the head of the other to his chest. He felt his body strung tight as a bow, trembling with half-considered need. At the same, he was afraid, and the niggle of fear forced him to briefly put a halt to their intertwinement.

“E- Mr. Lehnsherr,” he whispered, not quite daring to speak aloud as if it would spook the both of them,” you must know that I – that I have never – you must understand- “

“I understand,” Erik interjected softly. His entire face was glowing, and his eyes, like gemstones, gleamed and flashed in the slight illumination of the fire. “If you allow me, I will take the best of care of you. I will show you what there is to know of pleasure, and beyond.”

Charles combed damp hairs back from his forehead, lips quivering as he licked them. “I allow you this,” he replied, his voice faint and fading.

Erik gently tugged the unbuttoned night-shirt down over Charles’ arms and threw it to the side. Charles felt straws poking into his naked back, but it did not cross his mind to move an inch. Erik relieved himself of his own clothing and leaned over Charles once more.   
Charles’ eyes went to Erik’s chest and saw the scars there, silvery mottled skin and stripes of a darker red. He did not ask about their origin, but brushed his fingers over them, careful not to press down where it would not do to press down. As his gaze returned to Erik’s face, he saw that Erik had closed his eyes, his mouth open slightly. Experimentally, Charles kissed the largest of the scars - the shape of a spider’s web - and in response, felt a shiver go through Erik’s body. When he opened his eyes, his irises were blown.

He returned to pleasure Charles’ body with increased vigour, his nips and kisses now more lusting and enduring. Charles moaned when he felt teeth graze over a nipple and arched his back. Erik took the opportunity to slip an arm around and beneath Charles to prop him up. There was something possessive about the position – not that Charles could complain. His blood was running south, his cock beginning to harden where it lay exposed between his thighs, and all reason was dissipating as he become more and more overcome with desire. He did not need to do much, regardless, as Erik had devoted himself entirely to the attainment of Charles’ satisfaction. By now, he had reached Charles’ lower abdomen, his breath tickling the hairs over his sex – and Charles held his breath, his heart ever so loud in the intimate silence.

When Erik closed his mouth over Charles’ cock, he could no longer hold in his noises. His back came off the hay entirely, and a moan escaped his lips that was so loud that even in his ecstasy he was a little flustered. Erik worked his mouth up and down Charles’ shaft, his tongue coarse against the hypersensitive skin. Charles closed his hands around fistfuls of hay, sweating freely now, his mind blank with pleasure. Just as he was on the cusp of release, Erik left the throbbing member and came back up to fit his face against the groove of Charles’ neck. His huffs of breath were warm against Charles’ glistening skin.

“Would you like me to continue?” he whispered to Charles, his hand stroking the length of Charles’ chest. “It will hurt a little, at first, but I will be gentle.”

Charles kissed him, and the saline taste of his own sex surprised him. “I know you will.” He could see the intent in Erik’s mind, a ribbon of red in the midst of all the metal.

Erik let his head rest on the curve of Charles’ ass, stroking and kneading the skin. His body was so close to that of Charles that the telepath could feel the erection of the other. He squirmed a little against it, filled with sudden bravado, still reeling from the nearly attained orgasm.

Erik progressed to brush his fingers in-between the cheeks, the touch almost ticklish as they passed over the opening. He kissed Charles’ neck and shoulder as he prodded a finger against it –and into it. The momentary pain of the sudden intrusion passed almost as quickly as it had appeared, and Charles pushed back into the digit. Erik continued to push the entire finger up until he could go no further, then retracted it suddenly, brought his hand back up to his face and spat in it.

At the incredulous look that was given to him by Charles, Erik smiled apologetically. “Lubrication will ease the pain.” An example of this was given to him in Erik’s mind and Charles nodded eagerly in understanding.

His fingers now slick with saliva, Erik pushed two fingers into the opening and began to move them in and out with a pace that was at first slow but which was then quickened to match the beat of Charles’ heart. A third finger was introduced and with it a burning sensation. Charles felt himself stretch over the fingers, and it was close to his limits, but not entirely unpleasant. And when Erik curled his fingers inside of him, Charles’ vision momentarily blackened. He moaned, a low and visceral noise, sounding more animalistic than human.

“Are you ready?” asked Erik, and by his low tone, Charles could tell that he, too, was enjoying this. Charles could not string a sentence together in his state and so he simply nodded, whimpering meekly to his great embarrassment.

Erik pushed his own member, stiff and wet with Erik’s saliva, against the opening. It was much more than three fingers, but Erik was slow and careful about the advance and Charles began to rock his hips back to accommodate him. Erik panted as he pushed in and out of Charles, and closed a hand around Charles’ pulsating cock, stroking it in the same rhythm as his fucking was orchestrated by. Again, Charles inched closer to climax, but before he did, he reached out mentally and connected with Erik’s mind, melding with him in both body and soul. Charles’ serenity bled into Erik’s volatile emotionality and some of Erik’s fire scorched his own heart and left its mark there within.

Thus, intertwined in every which way possible, they orgasmed together – Charles with a cry, and Erik in silence but with loudness in his mind. Charles let the last few waves of elation wash over him, then relaxed, spent but blissful. He was comfortable in the enduring embrace, and felt no need to move, even though they had creating something of a mess. For the first time in his life, he had reached a state of complete contentment, a state which he had sought in many a country but had never found. Until now.

They must have fallen asleep, because when Charles woke next, the fire was low and the shadows had grown deeper. Erik’s breathing was even and his head was resting in the crook of his arm – Charles let him dream in peace.

Feeling suddenly restless, he got up, careful not to rouse Erik, and went over to the doors of the barn, pushing them ajar to look out. The darkness was still complete and the blizzard continued to ravage the country-side. An icy wind swept over his exposed body and he shivered, deciding that he would very much like to return to Erik’s side.

That was when he felt it, like a lantern in the dark, moving toward the barn in a steady progression. The presence of a third mind.

Somebody was coming.


End file.
